


Eating In

by AGirlNamedEd



Series: For a Price [3]
Category: Dragon Ball
Genre: Apron-Only Cooking, Face-Sitting, M/M, Sugar Daddy, and also Ash don't think you're not getting your share of the blame, naked cooking, this is Momo's fault I'm blaming her
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:20:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,224
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AGirlNamedEd/pseuds/AGirlNamedEd
Summary: Well, cooking wearing nothing but an apron isn't really the weirdest thing Tien's ever asked Yamcha to do.





	

**Author's Note:**

> So like...I've never really written face-sitting before??? Let me know if I did okay.

“Okay, if this is going to be an ongoing thing, we have _got_ to update your kitchen.”

Tien frowned, affronted, from his seat at the counter. “What’s wrong with my kitchen?”

“Ugh, where do I start?” Yamcha held out the bowl he was supposed to be mixing a cake in. “First of all, all your mixing bowls are either some flimsy metal alloy thing you got from the hundred-Zeni store, or cracked and chipped.”

“I like the old ones,” Tien said defensively. “They have character.”

“Secondly,” Yamcha continued, ignoring Tien’s outburst, “you don’t have an electric mixer. What the hell kind of kitchen doesn’t have an electric mixer?”

“What would we ever need one for?” Tien countered. “We eat really simple meals, Yamcha; it’s not something we use on a regular basis.”

“Well, if you ever want me to bake you a cake again, you’re buying me an electric mixer.” Yamcha grabbed a wooden spoon from the countertop and started mashing the butter. “Also, using margarine in a cake is unacceptable and I can’t believe you’d even suggest it.”

“I was just _saying_ ,” Tien grumbled.

Yamcha shook his head and abandoned the bowl, heading for the fridge. He didn’t want to put his back to Tien, but he didn’t have much choice—he needed milk and eggs. His face heated as he opened the fridge and grabbed them as fast as he could, slamming the door shut and spinning back to face Tien in one motion. Sure enough, Tien wasn’t even trying to be subtle about checking out his ass. Creep.

“It looks good on you,” Tien assured him when he came back over to the counter. Yamcha ignored him and resolutely cracked an egg against the side of the bowl. “Then again, you make anything look good.” He reached across the counter and fingered the top edge of the apron. “This just…accentuates it.”

Yamcha batted his hand away. “Pervert.” The stupid apron was the real problem. Yamcha didn’t care too much about the lack of proper kitchenware; he was just grumpy about having to wear a skimpy, lacy, heart-shaped apron while he baked. Really, he might not have minded the apron so much if he’d been allowed to wear something under it. But no, here he was, baking a chocolate cake in a pink apron and nothing else, allowing himself to be ogled by his best friend in exchange for rent money. Why was his life so terrible.

He decided not to give Tien the satisfaction of showing how much the situation was getting to him, keeping his mouth shut as he worked. He could feel Tien’s eyes on him and resolutely refused to look up at him. Tien would have that smirk on his face, the one that tied his stomach up in knots, and Yamcha _really_ couldn’t handle that right now. Not in combination with the too-short apron brushing his thighs every time he moved, and the few stray hairs falling out of his messy bun tickling the back of his neck. Yamcha was hyperaware of everything he did, knowing Tien was watching him, and it made his neck flush and his heart pound. He just wanted to get this stupid cake done so he could go put on pants.

“There,” he declared, scraping the sides of the bowl with the spoon. “Just have to shove it in the oven for half an hour and it’s done.”

“You going to decorate it?” Tien asked hopefully. He was still smiling at Yamcha, but instead of the smirk from earlier he looked genuinely excited.

Yamcha shook his head as he greased the cake pans. “Sure. I brought some store-bought icing with me. Not as good as homemade, but I figured you wouldn’t have any icing sugar, so I’m making do with what I’ve got.”

“Icing sugar?” Tien cocked his head. “Is that different from normal sugar?”

“Just trust me on this one.” Yamcha winked, immediately turning away after. What the hell did he wink for? That was only going to encourage Tien, and that was the last thing he needed. The cake was done, dammit, and he wanted real clothes again.

He opened the oven, forgetting about his earlier desire to keep Tien from seeing too much of his bare ass. Tien could get as much of an eyeful as he wanted as far as Yamcha cared at this point; he just wanted the whole thing to be _over_. He shoved the two pans inside and started to reach for the timer when a pair of warm, calloused hands rested over his hips. Yamcha jumped. “Kami, Shinhan, don’t do that.”

“You know,” Tien murmured, his lips next to Yamcha’s ear, “I don’t think whoever designed this apron actually had cooking in mind.” One hand started slowly wandering up Yamcha’s side, the other rubbing circles into Yamcha’s hip with his thumb.

Yamcha was pulled right against Tien and he cursed his lack of foresight. Of _course_ Tien wouldn’t just let him go change; he had to have his way with Yamcha first. He kept his eyes forward, busying his hands with the kitchen timer. “I can’t imagine what’d make you say that,” he replied, sarcasm dripping from every word.

He gasped when Tien’s finger found an exposed nipple and circled it, slowly, _torturously_ slowly. “This, for starters. Look, it doesn’t even cover your whole chest.” His lips found the side of Yamcha’s neck, kissing and gently sucking. “You’re not going to keep your clothes from getting dirty with this.”

Yamcha didn’t answer. If he said anything, his voice would crack. Instead he tipped his head back, resting it on Tien’s shoulder, letting him do what he wanted. It was still weird, letting Tien have control over Yamcha’s body, but it was also kind of exciting. And he couldn’t deny that it felt good.

Tien moved his hand to Yamcha’s other nipple, his other hand sliding down his hip to hitch the apron higher. “And look at this,” he murmured. “Scarcely covers anything. You can practically see it all.” Yamcha mentally cursed as he felt his body reacting. Tien hadn’t even touched his dick yet and he was already a quivering mess. How did Tien do it? How did he keep turning Yamcha into putty in his hands? It wasn’t _fair_ , dammit, Yamcha was the one with all the experience. _He_ should be the one getting Tien all hot and bothered and gasping out Yamcha’s name, not the other way around.

“How long until it’s done?”

It took Yamcha a moment to register the abrupt non-sequitor, and he rolled his head to the side to try and look at Tien. “What?”

Tien nodded at the kitchen timer, still clutched in Yamcha’s hand. “The cake. How long?”

“Oh.” Yamcha looked down at it. “About half an hour.”

“Good.” Tien’s lips pressed to Yamcha’s cheek. “Plenty of time.”

“For—” Yamcha cut himself off with a sharp gasp. Tien’s hand had wrapped around Yamcha and he lost his ability to form words.

“Come on, Yamcha,” Tien’s lips pressed just under Yamcha’s jaw, “let’s have a little fun.” His hand started to move and Yamcha squeezed his eyes shut. It was awful, he reacted to Tien so easily, jerking his hips forward to meet Tien’s hand. He’d half expected Tien to want something like this when he asked Yamcha to wear the stupid apron, and he wasn’t sure if he was glad or not that he’d been right.

Tien slid out from behind him and pushed him back against the counter, caging him in for a moment. Yamcha stared up at him, panting from the effort of trying to keep himself under control. “What do you say?” Tien prompted. “Can I have a little something before dessert?”

Yamcha blinked as he realised that Tien was actually asking permission to suck him off. “Fuck, yes, okay,” he stammered. “Just get on with it.”

Tien chuckled and that sound had _no_ right being as hot as it was, and then he was on his knees in front of Yamcha and pulling the apron out of the way to wrap his lips around the head of Yamcha’s cock. Yamcha fisted his hands in the apron, both to keep it out of Tien’s face and to help ground himself. It had been a long time since he’d gotten head, and while Tien was definitely still an amateur he was also eager to please. His head bobbed as he sucked as much of Yamcha into his mouth as he could, he was doing something absolutely _sinful_ with his tongue, even the occasional gentle scrape of teeth drove Yamcha wild. He gasped for breath and clenched his fists, trying to hold out as long as he could even as one of Tien’s hands came up to fondle his balls.

Tien pulled off him entirely, wiping saliva from his swollen lips. “Come to the couch with me for a minute. I want to try something.”

Yamcha’s legs wobbled without Tien’s hands bracing themselves on them, but at this point he wasn’t going to say no to anything Tien asked of him. He followed Tien out of the kitchen and over to the living room couch. To his surprise, Tien laid down on it on his back. Before Yamcha could ask what he was doing, he beckoned Yamcha over. “Come here.” Yamcha scooted closer, still confused. “No, I mean on top of me.”

Swallowing, Yamcha complied. This was something he was a little more used to, a bit more traditional. Although he didn’t see how Tien was going to suck him off if they were lying together.

“No, not like that.” Tien grabbed Yamcha’s hips when Yamcha sat on his lap. Tien was clearly getting off almost as much as Yamcha was, if the still-covered cock poking into his ass was any indication. Yamcha rolled his hips, grinning when Tien’s breath caught in his throat. “Fuck,” he muttered, still holding Yamcha’s hips but not stopping him when he did it again. He stopped him before he could to it a third time, fingers digging into his thighs. “Wait,” he said, chest heaving. Yamcha reached out and trailed his fingers down Tien’s chest, waiting for him to speak. Why the hell was Tien so _fucking_ sexy? And how had Yamcha never noticed before?

Tien’s hands shakily undid Yamcha’s apron and Yamcha rushed to help, glad to be rid of it. It was dumped unceremoniously on the floor and Tien’s hands were on Yamcha’s hips again, pulling him forward. Yamcha ended up with his thighs on either side of Tien’s head, hands braced against the couch’s armrest. He looked down between his arms and Tien gave him an upside-down smirk before opening his mouth and taking half of him in at once.

Yamcha choked. Tien’s mouth felt so good, hot and wet and all around him, and without thinking he thrust his hips forward, desperately trying to get more of that feeling. Tien made a muffled noise and he pulled back again, embarrassed. “S-sorry,” he stammered. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

Tien pulled off him entirely to stare at him incredulously. “Are you kidding? Why do you think I’ve got you in this position? If I didn’t want you to fuck my face, I wouldn’t have had you sit on it.” And with that his mouth was back on Yamcha’s cock, tongue swirling around the head.

“Shit,” Yamcha mumbled, and he moved his hips again, slowly moving in and out of Tien’s mouth. The appreciative moans Tien gave him made Yamcha bolder, thrusting faster and deeper, his arms shaking from the strain of holding himself up and Tien’s lips were stretched beautifully around him, his eyes closed, looking almost rapturous and Yamcha couldn’t stop now even if he’d wanted to, he was so close and vaguely aware that he was speaking but he had no idea what he was saying, what he was promising but he didn’t _care_ , oh _fuck_ he was going to explode, he was going to lose his mind, and Tien’s hands were on his ass, encouraging him to go harder and with Tien’s name torn out of his throat he was coming, shouting his ecstasy as Tien swallowed around him, slowing his thrusts to a stop.

He pulled out of Tien’s mouth, a shiver running down his spine as he pressed a kiss to Yamcha’s tip before he moved away. Yamcha crawled down to collapse against Tien’s chest, breathing hard as he came down from his high. Tien’s cock pressed against his hip, and he lazily moved his hips against it, grinning when Tien’s breathing hitched. He ran his hands under Tien’s waistband and smirked up at him. “Like a hand?” he asked.

It was Tien’s turn to blush, but he nodded. “Please.” His eyes closed when Yamcha wrapped a hand around his cock, and it only took a couple of strokes before it was Tien’s turn to come, gritting his teeth and letting out a high whine. Yamcha pulled his hand out of Tien’s pants, grabbing the apron and wiping his hand off on it. “Almost came,” Tien panted, “just sucking you off.”

Yamcha swallowed. “You know,” he said, pushing himself upright, “we still have a few minutes until the cake is done.”

Tien grinned at him. “I like the way you think.”


End file.
